Dreams
by CiZiwejes
Summary: Tag to AHBL II. For the first time in his life, Sam had never seen Dean so scared - while he was sleeping.


**Disclaimer**: I can only dream of owning the Winchesters- The Winchesters rightfully belong to CW and Eric Kripke. Sigh!  
**Muse and Beta:** Bia1007 and Tribble Master

a/n: This is a tag to All Hell Break Loose II, right after the boys got back from that Cowboy Graveyard in Wyoming. Enjoy!

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**Dreams**

Sam watched Dean fumble with the motel keys – worrying when he saw Dean's hand shaking. "You need help?"

Dean sighed weakly and wiped the blood trickling down his face with the heel of his hand. The blood flow hadn't stop and it was getting pretty annoying. "You don't need two people to open a friggin' door Sam."

God knew how hard Sam tried to hold down the urge to throttle Dean, to knock him out so that he could rest. From what Sam remembered, after he woke up from the dead, his hardheaded big brother hadn't even slept a wink and he'd only eaten a slice of pizza. Dean had been running on almost empty for five days now.

It made sense to Sam now why Dean didn't look so well. The crappy condition he was in now, gory and beaten, plus that he had only one year to live, finished the touch completely.

"Let me do it Dean…" cringing at how cold Dean's hand was to his touch – too cold for his liking, Sam pried the keys away from him and opened the door, giving way for Dean to enter first.

"Show off!" Dean shrugged off his jacket and staggered to the bed nearest to the door. He kicked his boots off and tumbled to bed, falling like a log. Staring at the ceiling, Dean shut himself off from the world – frowning slightly when Sam's face appeared in the line of his view.

"What?" When Sam was in mother hen mode, he was too obvious to be missed. And with Sam hovering in his personal space, he could see it was Super Mother Hen today.

"You okay?" Sam poked at Dean's head, grimacing a little as his fingers came back sticky with blood. "You're still bleeding," he declared worriedly.

"M'fine Sammy…go away! You stink!" Dean shoved Sam aside, got up to his feet and went into the bathroom. "I get the first shower," he winked and closed the door – shutting himself away from Sam and the rest of the world. _'The world he's going to leave in a year'_.

Sam's shoulder slumped as he sagged to his bed. He stared at his hands and after a while, his vision blurred. His eyes burnt with unshed tears and his breath caught in his chest. Unable to brace himself anymore, Sam surrendered and cried his heart out. He came back to life only to lose his brother. Sam got the chance to live when Dean would lose his after the year was over.

Sam didn't know which one hurt the most…the fact that Dean going to hell for him or that he was losing his brother, the only family he got left. He didn't know whether he should be thankful or angry at Dean.

He tried to sound convincing when he promised Dean he would find a way to save him. But the truth was Sam didn't know what to do. He couldn't think of anything on how to save his brother.

Sam was going to lose Dean, and somehow he was going to lose himself as well.

…………………………….. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o……………………………….

The water was pouring over him, drenching his body, washing away the dirt and the blood but still Dean didn't feel a thing. He'd gotten everything that he ever wanted over the last three days, the last one year and perhaps throughout his entire life.

He'd gotten Sam back from the dead though that meant he'd die in a year. He met Dad again even if only for mere seconds and he got his payback on the yellow eyed demon for killing mom. He had everything that he wanted but why he couldn't get away from this nagging feeling in his stomach?

Maybe he had seen too much. His family was all that mattered to him but he'd watched them die – every single one of them – too many times now. First he saw mom plastered to the ceiling and then burn when Sammy's nursery exploded. Then there was Dad, a lifeless heap on the hospital floor. And the most recent one was Sammy – the one he'd been trying his hardest to protect for his entire life, his reason to live – who had taken his last breath in Dean's arms.

When mom died, he survived because he had dad and Sammy. When dad made a deal and went to hell for him, he had Sam to get his feet back to the ground, keeping him standing tall. But when Sam died, he was on his own and he never had felt so alone.

For the three days that he'd lost Sam, Dean thought his world had ended. Dean, tough as he was, had a limit and seeing Sam dead - he'd lost it. A part of him was ripped apart so viciously he knew he would never gain it back. Now Dean was aware that no matter how hard he tried keeping his family together, he would still lose them somehow.

For once, Dean was swallowed by his worst fear – fear of losing his family – and he couldn't swim his way back to safety. The water from the shower had washed off the blood oozing from the gash along his hairline, forming a red swirl near his trembling feet. He looked at it blankly.

Dean sat down in the tub and buried his face on his knees. Everything he'd tried to protect had been slipping through his fingers throughout his entire life, so he decided to do it different this time.

He cried like a baby.

…………………………….. o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o……………………………….

Hours later, Sam came out from the shower with a towel slung around his hips, shivering so hard he could hear his teeth clatter. Dean had long finished the hot water and Sam could never go to bed without a shower. His body reeked of hell and nothing could wash the smell away, but at least Sam could pretend he was clean from the shower he'd just indulged himself in. With a hand unconsciously reaching his back, Sam cringed as his fingers made contact with the scar on his spine, courtesy of Jake's knife.

That scar would remain there until the day he died - a painful reminder that Dean had sold his soul to bring him back to life. Taking in his brother's sleeping features, Sam sighed. Dean had fallen asleep as soon as he got out from the shower, trying hard to mask his puffy eyes from Sam by tumbling to bed and burying his face into the pillow. He had mumbled his good night wish to Sam with a hoarse voice, sounding so weak and lost.

Even if Sam did catch Dean's after-cry face, he wouldn't have teased him about it because Sam was avoiding Dean's eyes as well by pretending to research something on the net. What could he do when he knew he would only have his brother by his side for one more year?

Sam inhaled deeply and started working himself into his sleeping attire, a pair of boxers and a sweatshirt. With his eyes still fixed on Dean, Sam shuffled over to his bed, the one farthest from the door – even now his brother was trying to protect him – and sat on the bedside, facing Dean.

Their problems might have gotten a little too complicated now, but Sam would fight till his last breath to save Dean. He didn't know how but he'd find a way. Sam lay down on the bed, crossed his arms under his head and stared at the ceiling. He let his thoughts wander as he listened to Dean's steady breathing – a state he'd gotten himself used to after Jess's death. Then, he would stay awake while Dean was asleep simply because he couldn't afford having another nightmare. And Dean's breathing would lull him to peacefulness though he wouldn't let himself fell into the much needed slumber.

Having himself trained into the routine, Sam knew Dean's breathing like the back of his hand. If he was tired, his breathing would be muffled by his snores. If he was sick, his breath would catch in his chest and sometimes come out as mere wheezes. When Dean was in pain, his breathing became frantic. Most of the times, Dean's breathing was slow and steady, a sign that he was fully resting and feeling safe.

But not tonight, Dean's breathing was not slow and steady. It didn't catch in his chest either. There was no snoring and it was not that frantic that Sam would feel the urge to rush over to his brother and start checking for hidden injuries. The breathing was too slow, missing a set of inhales and exhales – yes, Sam even counted Dean's inhales and exhales in a minute – and that was enough to send worry down Sam's spine.

Sam glanced at Dean, finding his brother lying stiff on his back. He looked like a heavy sleeper to anyone who hadn't spent an entire life with him like Sam. But Sam could see through him like a pane of glass. Dean's recent state was betrayed by a twitch of his brow but Sam knew.

His brother was having a nightmare.

Dean's reaction to the horrifying images of his nightmare wasn't the same like everyone else's. He didn't toss and turn, kicking around or shaking his head frantically like anyone would, or at least like Sam would. He didn't scream his lungs out, groan or even hiss. His face tensed a little and the muscles on his shoulder taut but those were the only things that Sam needed to know Dean was suffering in his sleep.

What was it that Dean was seeing? Hell? His own dead body? Sam shuddered at the thoughts. As he watched, Dean listed to his side, biting his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. His brows knitted and his lightly stubble jaw was tight - a sight that Sam didn't take the comfort in.

"Dean?" he called, trying to reach out. It worked.

The tension on Dean's face faded and the taunt muscles of his shoulders relaxed. But his breathing didn't even out into the slow steady rhythm Sam was used to. "Dean!" he reached out again.

"Sam?" Dean's lids stayed close but his eyes were moving frantically – in search of something – behind those lids. "Sam…that's you?" he was slurring his words oblivious to anything but his dream.

"Yes Dean…it's me," Sam provided Dean a lifeline, hoping to bring his brother back, dragging him away from the nightmare.

Dean sucked a deep breath and exhaled, hard and harsh. Then he bent over and started sobbing. "I'm sorry Sammy…" he cried.

Sam couldn't just stay away any longer. He swung his feet off the bed and in one long stride covered the distance between him and his brother. "Dean?" he kneeled by Dean's bed, his face inches from his brother's. Sam felt Dean's breath warm against his cheeks.

"M'sorry Sammy…I failed you…" Dean murmured, almost quietly. "Should've watched out for you…" a tear escaped his tight scrunched eyes, streaking his cheek.

"No," Sam's heart broke. "No, no, no." Now Sam understood the cause of Dean's nightmare. It was not hell and not even death, it was him all along - it was Sam. Among all the terror and the fear that they'd faced through all those years, it was Sam who kept Dean's sleep restless.

What did Dean do to deserve such suffering? What did they do? What had they done to the world that it turned its back on them?

"I should have taken care of you…but I let you die," Dean's speech was so eloquent that he would have appeared to be awake if not for the closed eyes. "I'm sorry Sammy…" Dean swallowed a sob and curled into himself. His hands gripping a fistful of his blanket, blanching his knuckles white.

Sam brushed a hand over his face, taking in the restless features of his brother submitting into helplessness and defeat for the umpteenth times in three days.

One of Sam's hands found its way to Dean's, prying open the death-grip his brother had on the blanket and curling his fingers around Dean's clammy palm, while his other hand hovered hesitantly on top of Dean's forehead. He knew a touch that intense would risk his brother waking up from sleep and bring down his infamous defense mechanism; the wall that Sam had never been able to get through.

"I'm sorry…" Dean whimpered again and Sam found enough courage in that. He let his hovering hand rest on his big brother's forehead. This was it. Now Dean would open his eyes, the wall would come down and Sam would be kicked off to his own bed. But at least he made contact with Dean and he knew the touch would bring his brother back to safety, if only for a moment.

Sam waited but Dean didn't open his eyes, instead he shifted slightly so that his forehead would fit perfectly into the crook of Sam's palm and let out a contented sigh. His hand that Sam had his fingers curled around jerked a little before he clenched it into a fist – locking Sam's hand in it and holding his brother tight.

Sam was sure it was going to take days, maybe weeks or months before Dean would get used to the images of Sam being lifeless in his arms. He might have to do this – kneeling by Dean's bedside, hands grabbing Dean's body, talking to him in his sleep– for many nights to come but Sam would happily do it.

Sam would be there for as long as Dean needed him. If he didn't manage to save Dean from the deal – God forbid – at least he could save him from the nightmares and keep him sane throughout his one year to live. He would keep him safe from the nightmares, like Dean had always done it for him.

"We're in this together Dean… you and me." Sam whispered into Dean's ear. "I'm sorry I left you before…but I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere," he promised as he rested his chin on the mattress, staring directly into his brother's face.

With that promise, Dean's breath evened out, moving in that slow and steady rhythm Sam was so used to. The nightmare was gone. The lifeless Sam in Dean's eyes was not haunting his brother's sleep anymore. That Sam was gone.

But this Sam would never leave. He'd be there, by Dean's side – forever.

**.:the end:. **


End file.
